


Merry Christmas, Darling

by a_colourful_stranger



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: During the War, M/M, Merry Christmas!, Steve is pining, Tony is drunk, also there's past steve and bucky, bc i'm too lazy to really research what happens when, have this stucky christmas fic anyway, i know i'm like two weeks late to the christmas fic train, it's a late christmas miracle, obviously not canon-compliant, so is bucky though tbh, so the avengers are all friends and not hating on each other, some clintasha if you squint, takes place after winter soldier and before age of ultron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_colourful_stranger/pseuds/a_colourful_stranger
Summary: Steve looks back on the best Christmas he has ever had, and wishes more than anything to relive it.





	Merry Christmas, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This fic is late but who doesn't need more Christmas fics?

Christmas music fades quietly as he steps into a room far away from the party still bustling. He shuts the door with a click and lets out a sigh before he finds a small loveseat to sit on. He’s nursing a bottle of beer that Sam handed to him a couple hours ago. He took a swig of the now warm alcohol and set it down on the table beside him.

The room he found is an office, he thinks, and it must be Pepper’s. There isn’t enough technology to be Tony’s. He hopes Pepper doesn’t mind him seeking refuge from the activity. Beside the loveseat and table, is a medium sized Christmas tree with white lights. He can smell the hint of cedar and knows that he must be a real tree. He didn’t know people still used those.

Steve sighs and leaned his head back against the plush cushion of the couch. Just as he closes his eyes, the door opens and the music filters into the room. “What are you doing in here?”

“Sitting,” he says. “It was too loud out there.”

“You’re telling me,” the door shuts and then Steve feels the loveseat shift beside him. “Tony is wearing a Santa costume and he is pointing to people telling them they’re his reindeer.”

“Which one are you?” Steve cracks open an eye and looks at Natasha. She looks tired, just like him, but an amused smile is playing on her lips. “Comet or Cupid?”

“Blitzen, actually,” she smirks. “You’re lucky you aren’t out there. Tony would call you Rudolph.”

“Why?”

“Little scrawny guy that turns out to be everyone’s hero,” says Natasha and she rests her head on his shoulder. They fell into a comfortable silence. Steve reaches and put his arm around her shoulders. Her presence is a comfortable one. She shifts, “Why are you in here, Steve?”

He swallows heavily, “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said. Why are you in here?” she lifts her head up and forces him to look at her. “I thought you loved Christmas.”

“I did. I _do_ ,” Steve wets his lips. “It’s a-a good holiday.”

“Steve,” Natasha sounds like a mother scolding her child. “What is going on? Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Liar,” Natasha punches his chest lightly but then she freezes and her eyes widen. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

He sighs, “Nat, it’s fine.”

“You’re missing him,” her words are dripping with pity. “It’s normal, Steve, to miss him. You thought he was dead. And now… He isn’t. I get it. But I think it would help if you distracted yourself. Distractions help.”

“I couldn’t be around everyone right now,” he tells her and it’s true. He couldn’t stand around while eggnog flowed throughout the crowd and the Christmas cheer was heady in the air. “I-I keep thinking about him and I had to get away. I didn’t want to be a downer on everyone’s happiness.”

“You could never be a downer,” Natasha tells him. “Everyone would understand. We all have our pasts and our ghosts.”

“Except my ghost is still alive,” Steve says and emotion builds up inside of him and he clears his throat. 

“We help each other get through the rough days, that’s what we do because we’re a family,” Natasha pets his hair. “Whether or not our ghosts are still alive.”

Steve looks over to the Christmas tree. The smell fills his nostrils and he pictures mud beneath his feet and cold imbedding itself into his bones. He can hear the crackling of a fire nearby and the taste of baked beans on his tongue. The memory of a gentle pressure on his lips startles him and he realises that Natasha has been talking to him.

“—Christmas?” her voice cuts in.

“What?”

She smirks, “How did you and Bucky spend Christmas?”

He shrugs, “We didn’t really do anything back then. Neither of us had that much money. Sometimes Bucky would find a bottle of cheap liquor and we’d share it. The Great Depression was not kind.”

“What about during the war?” Natasha asks and Steve realises what she’s doing. She’s trying to get him to talk about it—to think about the good times when Bucky was alive and when Bucky was _Bucky_.

“We, uh, we didn’t really celebrate, what with the threat of being shot by the Germans.” Steve grabs his beer and drinks from it. “Some of the guys would get letters from home and if they were lucky, they’d get a package with some home-made goods or a picture of their sweetheart. I never did. I had no one to write to me and I had no sweetheart.”

“You had Peggy, didn’t you?” Nat asks him.

He scoffs, “Peggy was sweet but she wasn’t my sweetheart. Far from it, really. I loved her though. She was amazing.” He drank again. “Bucky got a letter once, but there was no address on it so we never knew who it was from. He thought maybe it was Becca, his sister, but there wasn’t any proof. I don’t even think Becca knew that Bucky was in the war so…”

Loud cheers erupt outside the door and Steve flinches. He forgot there was a party going on. Natasha should be out there mingling, networking like she always does. Someone has no doubt been looking for her. Clint, probably, or Sam—Sam is probably looking for him too. They should go back out there.

“How did you and Bucky celebrate?” Natasha asks, somehow oblivious to the party growing rowdier by the second. “What did you do?”

“Like I said, we didn’t do anything special… There wasn’t anything to do but stay quiet and try to not get shot,” he is lying. God, he is lying to Natasha. He can’t tell her about it. He can’t even think about it.

His eyes drift to the cedar tree and he sucks in a breath. He can remember the crunch of snow beneath his back and the hot breath against his neck.

_“God, Darlin’, look at you.”_

“Steve?”

He sucks in a breath, “Yeah?”

“Where’d you go?” Natasha asks, “You looked like you were a world away.”

“Sorry, I was just… thinking,” he shakes his head and smiles at her.

“Tell me about it,” she keeps her voice low, “tell me about the Christmas with Bucky.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies again. Natasha pinches his bicep and he yelps before smacking her hand away, “What are you doing?”

“I can’t promise you that I won’t do worse if you keep lying to my face. I had my nails done for this party,” she holds up her right hand and her long-painted nails shine in the dim light. “Are you going to take or do you want to find out how sharp I had them done?”

Steve laughs despite himself, “How Clint fell in love with you, I’ll never know.”

Natasha grins, “So?”

His jaw tightens and he looks to the tree one more time, “Bucky and I were all each other had. My Ma was dead, and Bucky hadn’t spoken to his family in years. It was just us. It was always just us a-and Christmas in the trenches was no different. Buck, he nabbed a mickey of whiskey and we drank it around the fire. We were in this forest of cedar trees, you-you could really smell it. It was a nice change from the dirt, and the mud, and the blood.” He remembers breathing in the sweet air of the forest and feeling tension drain from his body. “I remember it was so cold, you couldn’t take your hands out of your gloves for more than a few minutes because they would freeze otherwise. A-And the fire wasn’t helping either, to stop the cold I mean. It was _that_ cold. Bucky,” Steve chuckles, “he kept saying, ‘Jesus Steve, I’m going to freeze my balls off here’ and he’d hold the whiskey bottle a bit tighter like it was going to warm him up.”

“Why were you up if it was so cold?” Natasha asks.

Steve purses his lips, “I don’t even know. I just… wanted to be awake.” He wanted to stay up and drink like they were dumb kids again. Only now, he was a few feet taller and wasn’t a bundle of shaking bones. He looks back to the twinkling tree beside him and sighs, “I wanted to be with Bucky.”

* * *

Sparks flew in the air as Bucky poked at the small fire with a stick, “Fuck, it’s cold. I’m going to freeze my—”

“Balls off, I know,” Steve laughs as he takes a swig from the cheap whiskey, “How many balls do you have left now? They must’ve fallen off about ten times now.”

Bucky shoots him a smirk, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Thinking about my balls, Stevie?”

“Fuck off,” Steve takes another swig of whiskey for good measure before he hands it back to the prick sitting next to him.

Bucky takes it and gulps down a mouthful, “That’s some good shit,” he smacks his lips. “Well, it’s not good, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Mhm,” Steve looks off in the distance towards the forest. He can hear the indistinct chatter of the others just a few yards away. He and Bucky had made their away from camp under the guise of keeping watch. They didn’t need to do that, there were others assigned to that, but Steve didn’t correct Bucky when the brunet told Dum Dum of their plans.

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky asks softly.

“Why did you tell Dum Dum we were keeping watch?” he meets Bucky’s eyes and he sees Bucky blush—though it might be the blood rushing to his cheeks in the frigid air.

Bucky frowns and shrugs, “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he folds his arms across his chest. “Just wondering.”

Bucky sighs heavily, “What if I wanted to spend some time alone with you without the others sticking their noses in?”

“Christ, Buck, I was just wondering,” Steve huffs.

Bucky drinks again. “Is it a crime that I wanted to spend time with m-my—” he clears his throat, “Steve. My Steve.”

“Your Steve?” he smiles, “I’m your Steve?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky’s cheeks are redder than the German sky in the morning. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Bucky stands up and Steve is quick to catch him. Bucky is swaying slightly from the alcohol coursing through his veins. Steve grabs onto Bucky’s forearms, gripping onto him through the thick coat he’s wearing steadying him. Bucky is staring at him, his mouth is open slightly, creating a cloud of mist with each breath. “Steve?”

“I want to spend time with you, too,” Steve whispers.

Bucky nods and then lifts up the mickey of whiskey. It’s nearly empty. “Do you want the last little bit?” Steve takes the bottle from him without a word and downs the contents of the bottle. It burns as it slides down his throat and he coughs a little by the end of it. “Easy there, Darlin’, don’t hurt yourself,” Bucky places his hands on Steve’s hips. “Can’t have you choking to death on some shitty whiskey.”  

“Since when am I your Darlin’?” Steve wonders and that only makes Bucky blush yet another shade darker.

“Since always,” Bucky mumbles. “Always been my Darlin’. Since you were this tiny little spitfire trying to fight everyone in the streets. Now you’re this big hero with a shield that can’t break, and you’re still my Darlin’.”

Steve gulps, “Buck…”

“Is that okay, Steve?’ Bucky wets his lips and Steve subconsciously follows the movement. “Is this okay?”

“Y-Yeah, Buck,” Steve’s eyes flit back up to Bucky’s and finds them darker than he’s ever seen, “it’s okay.”

The fire is slowly dying when Bucky’s lips find his. He tastes whiskey and the baked beans they shared for dinner. His lips are cold and yet, warm at the same time. Bucky moans and presses himself against Steve. He pulls away, “God, Buck, you’re driving me crazy.”

The shorter man smirks devilishly, “Yeah?”

Steve watches him for a moment, “Remind me to never compliment you again. Your head is big enough as it is.”

Bucky throws his head back and laughs, “You are such a punk.”

A gunshot rings through the forest and the next thing Steve knows, he’s on his back in the snow with Bucky over top of him. The only noise they hear is the sound of their own heavy breathing and the pounding of both of their hearts.

“You good?” Bucky keeps his voice barely above a whisper. Steve blinks up at him, Bucky’s demeanor has changed. He’s no longer Bucky, he’s Sergeant Barnes. “Steve, are you good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve finally answers.

Bucky sits up, unintentionally straddling Steve’s lap and he shouts, “Who fired?”

“Sorry!” a voice shouts back. It’s Dum Dum, “Thought it was unloaded!”

“Jesus, Dum Dum,” Bucky places the palm of his hands over Steve’s pecs and rolls his hips. Steve chokes on a moan and Bucky smirks from above him. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No,” the man laughs, “my pride, however. Have a good night, Barnes.”

“You, too,” he rolls his hips again and this time Steve can’t hold back his moan.

“Rogers there with you?” Dum Dum asks, and Steve hears the crunching of snow.

“Yeah, he’s here,” Bucky looks back down at Steve, “Steve?”

"I’m here,” Steve pants, “Good night, Dum Dum.”

Steve thinks he hears Dum Dum laughing, “Good night, Captain.”

The footsteps fade and Steve smacks Bucky’s stomach, “What is wrong with you?”

“What?” Bucky hovers over him now, “You seem to like it,” and he does _that_ again.

Steve grits his teeth, “ _Bucky_.”

“God, Darlin’, look at you,” Bucky mouths at his neck, “beautiful. The best Christmas present I’ve been given. Always so nicely wrapped for me,” Bucky pulled down the zipper of Steve’s coat. “God, Stevie, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. Since that summer it got real hot and you practically lived in your underpants. Thought I was going to pounce on you the first time I saw those legs,” Bucky bites at Steve’s exposed collarbone. “Every Christmas I’ve tried to gain the courage to say something to you—tell you how I feel but I could never get it out.”

Steve threaded his fingers through Bucky’s hair, “Why now?”

“We’re in a war, Darlin’, I could die tomorrow. Don’t want to die with you not knowing,”

The air shifts and Steve pulls on Bucky’s hair until they’re looking in each other’s eyes, “You aren’t going to die, Bucky.”

“You can’t know that,” Bucky says. “But it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you know now.”

“Know what?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “That I love you, Stevie.”

He grins, “I love you too, Buck.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Bucky pets the side of his face, “Merry Christmas, Darlin’.”

“Merry Christmas, Buck.”

* * *

“And then we went back to camp. Dum Dum had this smirk on his face like he knew what we were getting up to. A month or so later, Bucky fell from the train and I thought he was dead,” Steve finishes with a sigh.

Natasha hums, “So why refuse to celebrate this year? When you know he’s alive and out there?”           

Steve toys with the label on his empty beer bottle, “Because I’d already accepted that he was gone and we’d never have another Christmas together again. Now, I-I keep thinking that he’ll come back and everything will be—will be back to normal.”

“Steve…”

“I know that he’s not Bucky anymore.”

“Okay.”

The door swings open and Tony comes sauntering in, “What are you two doing in here? The party is out here, if you weren’t aware.”

“Leave us alone, Tony,” Natasha glares at the drunken man.

Tony stares at them and then says, “Are you two having a secret tryst, because while I would be endlessly entertained by that, I can’t have Clint getting all moody and disappearing on us. It’d be like when Pepper got mad that I was spending more time with Bruce than her,” Steve and Natasha stare at the multi-millionaire before he clears his throat. “Are you two together?”

“Of course not,” Steve says while Natasha simultaneously says, “Yes.”

Tony nods before he calls for Clint.

Now there are four people in Pepper’s office, and none of them are Pepper.

“Widow’s cheating on you,” Tony announces to Clint.

Clint frowns and says, “I didn’t know we were dating…”

Tony’s mouth falls open, “But you two are—”

“Captain Rogers, there is a delivery here for you,” JARVIS interrupts whatever Tony was about to say.

“What is it?” Steve asks.

“I do not know. The man who delivered it did not say,” JARVIS says.

“What man?” Steve questions, “Show me.”

“Just a moment,” JARVIS says and one of the tablets on Pepper’s desk lights up. Steve goes to it and sees a picture of a hooded man. He feels Tony peering over his shoulder and he shoots a look to Natasha.

“Come on, Tony, I’ll make you a drink,” she drags both him and Clint – who was still confused as to why he was there in the first place, leaving Steve alone in the office.

“Do you know this man, Captain Rogers?” JARVIS asks him.

Steve stares down at the screen. It’s too hard to tell who it is but his heart is pounding. “No, I don’t.”

JARVIS then asks, “Shall I have the package removed, then?”

“No. I’ll come see what it is. Thanks JARVIS.”

“It is my pleasure.”  

Ten minutes later, after weaving his way through the crowded party and keeping his greetings short, he stands in the foyer of his apartment in Stark Tower. The package sits in the center of his welcome mat, brought up by the concierge in the lobby. It’s not that big. Maybe about six inches in length and four inches in width.

Carefully, Steve picks it up and looks at it. The tape holding it closed seems like it was placed on haphazardly and the cardboard looks like was held out in the rain.

He rips it open.

Inside is a whiskey bottle.

It’s empty.

“JARVIS?” he calls out.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“What did the man say when he delivered it?” Steve pulls the bottle out of the box while he asks.

“I have recorded audio; would you like to hear it?”

“Please.”  

There’s a crackling over head before Steve hears the voice of the concierge, _“Hello, Sir, how can I help you?”_ There is a pause. _“Who is this for, Sir?”_ Another pause. _“This is for Captain Rogers? Okay… Who should I tell him it’s from?”_ Yet another pause. “ _Sir? Uh, is there any message you want me to pause onto Captain Rogers?”_

Another voice cuts in, it belongs to a man, “ _Tell him Merry Christmas.”_

Steve’s hand shakes around the empty whiskey bottle.

“Captain Rogers, are you all right? Your heart rate has increased. Shall I tell Mr. Stark?”

“No!” Steve says a bit too loud, “No. Don’t tell Tony. Please.”

 JARVIS sounds hesitant, “Alright, Sir. If you have any other questions, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Steve says nothing else and his knees buckle. He stumbles until he sits on the chair beside front door and the shoe rack. He stares down at the whiskey bottle.

…

“Merry Christmas, Buck.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: @j-o-n-g-h-y-u-n or @a-colourful-stranger (i'm more active on the former rather than the latter)


End file.
